Against All Odds
by JamesLuver
Summary: Sweeney Todd and Nellie Lovett's relationship. Revenge. Lust. Confusion. Love.
1. Lively

**A/N: **To keep it short, I'm writing 30 drabbles based on prompt words from a table found on LiveJournal. They're all Sweenett, one way or another. ;) Hopefully I'm getting their characters right – only seen the movie twice…

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sweeney Todd, nor do I own the table at LiveJournal. :)

* * *

_Against All Odds_

_1. Lively_

He sits in a darkened corner of the pie shop, watching Mrs. Lovett and the boy with silent disinterest. He twirls his razor slowly in his fingers, thoughts of the Judge, of Lucy and of Johanna miraculously not in the forefront of his mind, but lurking in the shadows.

Mrs. Lovett is attempting to teach Toby to dance. He is clumsy, has no rhythm, but the baker is kind, her encouraging words bringing him confidence.

"That's it love!" she says cheerfully when they've stumbled around the room a few times. "Now Mr. T'll demonstrate the next part for ya!"

She looks at the barber expectantly. He frowns, on the verge of telling her no, when he surprises himself.

"Alright."

The answer is gruff and strained, but Mrs. Lovett's face lights up as though he's declared his undying love for her. Grasping his arm, she pulls him to his feet before her hands snake to his shoulders; he rests his on her waist. Their movements around the room are fluid and natural; Toby stares in awe. Staring into her endless eyes, Todd quickly pushes away the treacherous thought that he's not felt so alive in months.

* * *

**A/N: **Review and make my day! :D


	2. Remorseful

_2. Remorseful_

Every day she washes his clothes, prepares his food, gets rid of the evidence for him. Every day he lets her, too consumed by thoughts of revenge to spare a second for the little baker.

She does not complain. Knows, deep down, that this is all she can expect of him, hope for. Benjamin Barker could love. Barker could show emotions other than rage, let everything out in ways not associated with blood.

But Barker is dead, and Sweeney Todd is nothing like the man she once loved.

She sometimes wonders why she loves Mr. Todd more.

Humming quietly to herself, she enters the tonsorial parlour and clears her throat. No response. As expected. Placing the tray down, she says loudly, "anythin' else you need, Mr. T?"

Slowly he shakes his head, gaze never moving from the view of Fleet Street below. He will not eat the dinner she has so lovingly prepared for him. He will not acknowledge her presence. He is too lost in the past, drowning in his tortured memories.

She leaves him then, trapped in the dark place he cannot escape.

For the first time in seventeen years, Mrs. Lovett guiltily wishes she'd never fallen so hard for Benjamin Barker.

But only for a remorseful moment.

* * *

**A/N: **I actually forgot to say that these won't be linked to each other unless stated otherwise. :)

In regards to this, Nellie loving Mr. Todd is an uphill battle, so I feel that at times, if only for a second, she'll wish she didn't. Hence the end of the prompt. :)


	3. Dismiss

_3. Dismiss_

He paces in front of the window, glaring out at Fleet Street as he mechanically flicks a razor open and closed. No sound can be heard save for the musical creaking of the floorboards beneath him.

The silence is bliss.

Then the door is pushed open, and he hears the cheery, "thought you might be hungry, love, so I've brought you some soup…"

He ignores her as he pauses his pacing, contenting himself with sneering at the street below. Mrs. Lovett hums quietly under her breath as she collects his untouched breakfast. He's so caught up in thoughts of the Judge, of Lucy, that he doesn't hear her speaking until she's stood right behind him with a hand resting on his shoulder. He freezes at the contact.

"Love? I said is there anythin' else ya want?"

Her singsong voice is mocking his wallowing ruminations. The feel of her fingers warming his cold skin is wrong. She's mocking _Lucy_, pretending to be concerned, trying to play the part of the wife she'll never be.

"Out," he manages.

"Mr. T…?" she's confused, but doesn't step away.

_"Out!"_ he roars, and she flinches as though burned, then sighs dejectedly as she backs slowly away.

If he cares to turn around, he'll see the hurt in her eyes.

But he doesn't.

* * *

**A/N: **I originally planned on posting a Christmas drabble today, but if I did that it would mean delving into the Writer's Choice ones, which I'd prefer to leave until the end. Therefore you'll have to endure an angst ridden Sweenett on what should be a happy day. Apologies for that. :( However, I'll still wish a Merry Christmas to one and all! Hope you get everything you want! :D


	4. Heavy

_4. Heavy_

She finds him slumped against the barber's chair, staring sightlessly ahead of him. His razor, usually clenched possessively in his fingers, is hung loosely in his limp grasp.

"Mr. T?" she says softly, afraid of disturbing him.

He does not respond.

"Love?" she raises her voice until it's almost a shout; still she gets nothing from him.

Cautiously she enters the room. At times like these he's unpredictable; she doesn't know if he'll spring into life and threaten her with a razor for disturbing him.

She's by his side now, and after a moment's hesitation, drops to her knees beside him.

"Mr. Todd?" she lowers her voice once again, accompanying it with a tentative hand on his arm. "Look at me, dear."

Slowly, dark eyes find dark eyes; Nellie's widen at the desperately lost expression in his. The turmoil threatens to spill over; she knows he's on the brink of insanity.

Without a word she pulls his head to her breast, cradles it. He remains stiff, but he doesn't pull away. Progress? She hopes so.

Her heart bleeds for him. She knows only too well what it is like for a heavy burden to become too much. She's carried one of her own for fifteen years. One that the barber must never find out about: Lucy.

He's cracking with the pressure of his revenge. But if he lets her, she'll gladly share his heavy load.

* * *

**A/N: **Meh, I'm not sure what I think of this one. Anyway, I'll hopefully I'll be posting a New Year 'fic at some point today…but don't hold your breath. It is me, after all. :P


	5. Forward

_5. Forward_

_Look to the future, _she tells herself. _Look forward._

She's up to her elbows in water; it's sloshing over the sides as she dunks the bloody shirt under the surface…

_Mr. Todd taking her to the seaside for a well deserved break…_

The persistent bloodstain won't wash out no matter how hard she scrubs…

_Mr. Todd confessing his love for her with the sea rolling gently behind him…_

She mutters obscenities under her breath as the water soaks her dress, making the material cling uncomfortably to her in the heat of the bake house…

_Mr. Todd kissing her on the sand…_

"Mrs. Lovett!"

_Mr. Todd taking her hand and showing them their lovely new home…_

"Why isn't my shirt done!? I need one at once!"

_Mr. Todd proposing to her, love in his eyes…_

"This stain is a persistent bugger, Mr. T…I'm tryin' me 'ardest 'ere but it just won't budge! I'll get it to ya jus' as soon as I can, but be patient love…"

_The little church by the sea, with the lovely old priest…_

He growls at her, slamming the door on his way out. Silence remains…

_Mr. T and Nellie Lovett, finally married…_

Floorboards creak above her as the barber paces like a caged animal…

_The perfect wedding night…_

If Mrs. Lovett doesn't repeat this mantra like her life depends on it, she fears she will go mad.

_By the sea, Mr. Todd, that's the life I covet…_

"Next time," she promises herself. "Next time."

Next time Sweeney Todd will sweep her off her feet and make her dreams come true.

_Just keep lookin' forward._

* * *

**A/N: **This one went over the word count I intended for it…but I couldn't cut it down. Nellie is much easier to write than Sweeney. xD I'm strangely satisfied with this one, but what do you think?


	6. Prowl

_6. Prowl_

No one understands the barber. They avert their eyes when he prowls between them, a stalking predator, dark eyes darting as though searching for something. His presence disturbs them slightly, though they have no idea why.

Todd eventually finds unsuspecting prey. He's a plump gentleman, not too rich, not too poor. Certainly not married.

The chap makes to leave, and Todd pounces. He coaxes the fellow away from his kind with the promise of a free shave, entices him with _the best barber in London_ title.

It's all too easy.

The man settles himself willingly into the chair, lifts his head, voluntarily exposing his neck while Todd applies the cream. A concise jerk and the warm is flowing freely, spraying the place an intoxicating red. The look of surprise is still etched upon the chap's features.

Todd takes his time cleaning up, satisfied with his work.

Then the prowling begins again.

* * *

**A/N: **I know this isn't as good as _Forward_…but it can't be helped. I wrote this at school today, in a fit of boredom. I cannot wait for the next holiday. :/

Cheer me up with a review? :D


	7. Cut

________

7. Cut

The smell of her blood is arousing. That warm trickle as it slides smoothly down her creamy skin into his eager mouth. He laps at it impatiently, teeth grazing her flesh as he soaks it up. She whimpers slightly under his hot tongue but does not attempt to escape the stinging sensation it brings.

He knows she is powerless to.

Pulling back, he regards her face. Her brown eyes are half-closed in pain, her fiery hair plastered to her sweaty forehead. The angry red marks smothering her body are like a perverse brand. They state that she belongs to him.

He knows she hates him when he does this to her; deforms her body for his own enjoyment. He knows she hates herself for letting him do it to her over and over again.

He knows she'll tell herself that this time is the last just to get her through it. He also knows she'll succumb to him next time, for this is the only way she can have him for a short while. Insatiable desire drives him to take her, and she'll harbour under the pretence that he can love her as she loves him.

In the end, delusion is much stronger than will.

He kisses her roughly, drawing back before she can deepen it. Then he yanks out a razor again. He presses the cool blade against his skin, licks off the remaining droplets Nellie has bled for him. He cannot resist slicing her again; watches, enraptured, the edge nipping her skin like a lover should. She manages to stifle a moan of agony by burying her face against his bare chest, blood gushing from her shoulder. As he bends down to breathe in the metallic scent of her liquid, he knows she hates it.

She'll bear the cuts for him anyway.

* * *

**A/N:** I seem to enjoy hurting poor Nellie, don't I? :( Well, this prompt was practically _screaming_ this…so I wrote it.


	8. Compromise

_8. Compromise_

Sometimes he wonders how this arrangement had come about, how he finds himself in Nellie Lovett's bed every night. How had he not seen this situation arising? Who had initiated it? Him, her? Did it even matter anymore?

He sighs heavily, shifts to find a more comfortable position. Beside him, Nellie rolls over, placing a hand on his bare arm.

"Alright, love?" she asks sleepily, resting her cheek against his shoulder; he stiffens at the contact but soon reluctantly relaxes under her soothing touch. She doesn't seem to expect an answer to her question, and for that he is grateful. He doesn't want to explain to her how much he hates the terrifying fact that he reluctantly _likes_ this arrangement. He should be thinking of nothing but Lucy, Johanna and the Judge, but the fiery haired little baker invades his thoughts almost viciously until he gives into his body's treacherous needs, taking her roughly, their bodies rocking violently.

He knows she loves it, and though he'll never admit it, it's the only release he has. In those moments of white-hot pleasure, nothing exists but the baker writhing beneath him. He knows nothing but her mewling voice as she cries his name, her exquisite moves under him.

He finds blissful release, she owns him if only for the night.

An unspoken compromise they can both live with.

* * *

**A/N: **These seem to be going very badly at the minute, but I'm getting tired of fiddling with them, so I'm just going to post them. The next part of 'FMFMS' is almost complete, so expect that in the next week or so. :)


	9. Impulse

_9. Impulse_

It means nothing, he tells himself, it means nothing at all. It's a betrayal of his beautiful Lucy, but it's not _the_ biggest betrayal. He's not given his heart away. _That_ still belongs to his yellow haired Angel. He's only satisfying his needs. Lust and love are two very different things. It is possible for them to coincide together.

It's just something he has to do, an impulse he has to act on. He doesn't like it when she claws desperately at his back, rolls her hips against his. He doesn't enjoy it when she runs her tongue along his collarbone, nipping playfully at his flushed skin, and he most certainly feels nothing when her walls spasm around him, when her warm juices soothe him, when she groans his name so loudly he's sure the whole of London hears.

He really does hate it.

_She_ is just the stupid impulse, invading his mind, but she's an impulse he is powerless to resist nonetheless.

* * *

**A/N:** Dunno what happened with the last chapter, so I'm hoping this one is at least a little bit more successful. Which shouldn't take much...

...Review?

Oh, and I've bumped the rating up, just to be safe.


	10. Hush

_10. Hush_

In her time upon the earth, Nellie has always been the one to comfort others. Sometimes she thinks it was all she was born to do.

As a youngster it had always fallen to her to comfort her Mother after yet another explosive argument with her husband which left the woman choking back the tears. Nellie had never cried with her, even though it broke her heart to see her parents fight so. She'd always taken the reins, made everything better.

She'd been the one to comfort her husband once the two of them discovered she couldn't bear children. She'd hidden her own despair deep inside, her silent tears staining the pillow in the dead of night.

After Benjamin Barker had been deported, Nellie had taken care of a distraught Lucy until the yellow haired woman had given in and taken the arsenic, once more swallowing her own anguish at the loss of her dear barber.

Fifteen years later, she's done the same for Sweeney Todd. She tries to soothe him as best as she can when the memories of Lucy become too much for him to handle. She's as close to him now as he'll ever allow.

In the nights when Toby awakens, crying and hysterical from some nightmare of Pirelli or the workhouse, she is the one by his bedside, rocking him gently until his fears have been quelled and he can sleep peacefully in her arms.

There is no one to comfort Nellie though. No one to hush and soothe her when the exhausting work and the uphill struggle with the feelings for a man who doesn't even notice her takes its toll. She never lets the boy see her weak – he depends on her strength, and she doesn't want to trouble him. He worries enough as it is. Turning to Sweeney Todd for comfort is not even worth contemplating. The barber doesn't remember feelings other than anger.

She has everything she's ever wanted – a boy to call her own and Sweeney Todd back in his rightful place, living above her – but sometimes Nellie Lovett has never felt so alone.

* * *

**A/N:** A bit of an insight into Nell. I rather like this one.

**Lillith** – Glad you enjoyed it. :) Thanks for reviewing!


	11. Morals

_11. Morals_

The grown women in his life couldn't be more different. Todd growls, rubbing his temples, pacing back and forth in a desperate attempt to quell his thoughts. His head pounds. He is disorientated.

Lucy Barker still holds his heart. She might not be physically alive any more, but she'll never die in his memories. She belonged to Barker, but he has no intention of severing the love that once tied him to humanity.

He tries to recall her now; she always calms his anger. She was virtuous, was Lucy. Shy. Beautiful. Modest. She'd always had a soft smile preserved for her husband, a gentle touch which told him everything would be alright. She was faithful, dressed appropriately, loved no one but Benjamin. She had all the morals a woman should.

Unlike the woman below him now, humming away in the pie shop.

Mrs. Lovett. So very different from his cherished love. _She_ is not virtuous. She is brash. She is left with the haunted beauty hardship brings. She is immodest. She is temptation sent by the Devil himself, a fiend intent on making him forget. She runs her hands down his arms, presses her body against his, assaults his neck with heated kisses he cannot stop. He drowns in her lust, clinging to her even though she disgusts him beyond measure.

Lucy may still hold his heart, but Mrs. Lovett holds the anchor to his sanity.

And, in the end, it doesn't matter if Lucy had morals or not. She is the one buried in an unmarked grave, not Mrs. Lovett.

In the end, morals could not save her.

* * *

**A/N:** So I've just finished watching _Sweeney _again with my sister and her best friend. I was grabbed by the insurmountable need to post something; it's 02:55 as I submit this. Since updating _Sins_ was out of the question, I've posted the next of these. Not too happy with it, but the prompt was difficult.


	12. Engage

_12. Engage_

It's happened. The thing he'd never wanted. He'd let his relationship with Mrs. Lovett cross the forbidden barrier, and now he has to deal with the consequences.

He'd never thought that giving into his body's needs could mess everything up so spectacularly. All the times he'd gone to her willingly, drunk on lust and the desperate need to let her take away his thoughts for a short while, and this situation had never sprang to his mind.

The words still spin violently in his head as he goes about his daily slaughters with a renewed vengeance, seeking the blood of men more than ever now. Four days on, and he's sure he's never going to comprehend the sentence: _I'm pregnant._

Nellie's face when she'd told him was a mask of nothing, hiding eyes wide with terror. And then she'd burst into tears, sobbing desperately as she'd collapsed against his unresponsive body. She'd been almost inconsolable, and indeed Todd had given up trying, his mind frozen.

_How can we bring a child into the world?_

A murderer and his willing accomplice, changing a baby in their spare time. If the situation wasn't happening to _him_, it would be laughable.

Throughout the last four days he's gone through every emotion known to him: fury at himself for being unable to resist her; fury at her for falling pregnant. Terror at the thought of _Sweeney Todd_ becoming a father, confusion at these muddled emotions…they've had blazing rows over the baby's future, in which Nellie has put her foot down: she's keeping it.

So it's lead to this. Reluctant acceptance. It does not mean that he wants this child by any stretch of the imagination – he's here for one purpose only, and this development can only be an irritating hindrance, and it makes the betrayal of his beautiful Lucy all the more concrete – but it is something he now has to deal with. Nellie did not impregnate herself, nor did she fling herself at him the times when he'd given in to her, though she'd not been opposed to it in the countless attempts before. No, this time, _he_ was the one who initiated the whole affair; therefore he must accept the consequences. And since Nellie _can't_ end up in Bedlam (who would help get rid of his victims then?), it's led to something else to.

She stands by the door, a comical mixture of exaltation and suspicion upon her face as she holds the little box tentatively in the palm of her hand, shifting it to each side so the colours explode prettily whenever the light hits it. Then she grins joyfully, and crosses the room in two strides, grasping his rough hands in hers, pressing kisses to his knuckles, breathing _yes_ over and over again…

A wife for Sweeney Todd.

* * *

**A/N:** With life-changing examinations coming up in less than a month, I want to try and get these out of the way so I'm not trying to focus on too many 'fics at once. Getting rid of these would ultimately give me more time for _Sins_, which I'm still working on. :) Therefore I'll hopefully be updating these every Monday and Friday, English time. Again, not too happy with this one as it's so clichéd, but my other attempts at it were pitiful, leaving this as the last resort.


	13. Voice

_13. Voice_

Fifteen years ago, Benjamin Barker's voice had been light and innocent, brimming with joy and love. It had always been soft and gentle, like a summer's sea breeze, bringing goosebumps to Nellie's flesh as she listened, enraptured, to the way his voice tasted the words. It didn't matter if he was talking about his darling Lucy and Johanna; she could tune out his sentences, focus on the texture of his voice. She could fill in the blanks herself with her most secret fantasies. Of his whispered confessions of love, breathy promises of whisking her away to the sea.

Those fantasies died in the moment he was taken away, but the memory of his voice lingered like an apparition.

-- --

She fancies there is something familiar about the dark profile in front of her, but brushes it off as she chatters aimlessly to him about her pies. After all, it wouldn't be the first time she'd gotten carried away, imagining another man in front of her.

But when he opens his mouth to speak, all doubt is eradicated. His voice is low and raspy, as though he's forgotten the art of speech, cold as the grave. It is devoid of all emotion save for an icy, forced calm.

It's not the same but her heart quickens nonetheless, cursed to react this way to only one person.

She'd know that voice anywhere. Benjamin Barker is back in her life.

* * *

**A/N:** I think this is the only one which has actually fitted in directly with an event from the movie so far. xD I'm…satisfied, I suppose, with this one, which is a step up from how I felt about the last two.


	14. Awkward

**A/N:** For Morgan, who requested this once she heard the prompt. Hope it's satisfactory, since I myself am not one hundred percent happy with it, but I'm fed up of editing it.

**Notes: **Takes place **after (12.) Engage**.

* * *

_14. Awkward_

Toby supposes that life now is as good as it's going to get. In truth, he is very content. He has his own little bedroom, a beautiful view of the sea, and some nice new friends who are fascinated with his anecdotes of London.

And then, of course, there is Charlie.

The puppy is frolicking in the garden, chasing the stick Toby has tossed as fast as his fat little legs will carry him, yapping excitedly all the while. Charlie is fast becoming Toby's closest companion, sleeping on the foot of his bed at night and shadowing his every move during the day. The young lad is glad he managed to persuade Mrs. Lovett to purchase the dog for him on their way to their new home. He suspects that Mr. Todd is not particularly fond of the creature (Toby has found him frequently snarling at the pup, lip curled to bare his teeth), but he doesn't care; it's nice to have a cohort who will follow him loyally, especially since he cannot trail behind Mrs. Lovett like he used to. Not when Mr. Todd is always there. Her _husband_.

Toby's own lip curls in distaste at the thought of his dear Mum being married to the dark barber. She seems happy enough however – she never stops singing now, and he's never seen her looking as well. Leaving London, she tells him, has done her wonders. Of course, it could have something to do with the fact that she is with child. Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd had married shortly after leaving London, stopping at the first church they'd come across and exchanging their vows. Toby privately thinks that the whole affair had been much less than his Mum deserved – she hadn't even been wearing a wedding dress! – but Mrs. Lovett had expressed her delight afterwards by dropping thrilled kisses onto her new husband's pale cheeks at every opportunity posed to her.

A month later, she'd announced brightly to him that she was expecting Mr. Todd's child.

Toby still doesn't quite know what to think of this. He supposes that having a little brother will be fun (but not a sister – girls are annoying, snivelling things) as he can then teach him how to play football and can race him the length of the beach, but in the darkness of night the dark notion that he will no longer belong often strangles him in its tight hold. Mrs. Lovett assures him that he will always be her son as much as her own child is, but the boy can't help but think that she will change her mind when she has a beautiful little baby as well as a scruffy street urchin.

Mr. Todd certainly wouldn't mind throwing him out on his ear, either.

Still, Toby pushes these thoughts out of his mind as Charlie retrieves the stick and brings it back to him, panting happily. It is a lovely day. He thinks that perhaps the puppy might like to take a walk on the beach. It amuses Toby to watch the dog whining at the waves when they wash his tiny paws. Yes, that's what he'll do. He doesn't want to linger on unpleasant contemplations.

Without another thought, he turns on his heel and races into the house to tell Mrs. Lovett where he is going, Charlie by his side.

* * *

They have been married for three months now, and Sweeney has to reluctantly admit that life with Nellie Lovett isn't as bad as he once feared it would be. Once he'd completed his revenge against the Judge, they'd sold both the tonsorial parlour and the pie shop, packed their bags and moved to the sea, just like in Mrs. Lovett's fantasies. They had been afraid that the Judge's untimely disappearance would be linked back to them, and in any case (as Nellie had pointed out), London was no place to raise a child, not with the crimes which occurred there on a day-to-day basis. Toby, of course, had followed them here, all the way to the sea, none the wiser.

He is out in the little garden now; Sweeney can hear him playing with the puppy the boy coerced Mrs. Lovett into buying. Usually the dog is a nuisance as much as the boy, a yapping bundle of fur, but today he is grateful that it is there to distract the lad.

Sweeney is lying on the bed in the room he shares with Mrs. Lovett. The window is thrown open in the hope that a non-existent breeze will be tempted inside to dry the sweat cloaking his body. Mrs. Lovett herself is curled up at his side, her head pillowed on his shoulder, her eyes half-closed as she dozes in the afterglow. Todd is tracing lazy patterns onto the slight swell of her stomach, where their child is nestled. Even now he's had time to get used to the notion, it still makes him heady to think that _Sweeney Todd_ will become a father again. He hadn't been pleased when she'd come to him all that time ago, eyes wild with turmoil, to tell him she'd fallen pregnant with his child. It had made him feel fury like nothing else to think that it would be interfering with his quest for vengeance. But the only thing he could've done was to marry Mrs. Lovett, and marry her he did, however reluctantly at the time. Now he's had time to think of it in more detail, he has a suspicion that it's almost like fate giving him another chance at life. He'll never be over Lucy – she will always hold the majority of his heart – but Mrs. Lovett (Mrs. Todd, now, he mentally corrects himself) has done a good job of worming her way into one small corner preserved only for her. It will never be love, but she has come to accept this, enjoying what she can have from him as best she can. Sometimes he feels sorry for her – it can't be easy loving someone who doesn't return the emotion – but there is nothing he can do about it.

The sounds of Toby in the garden melt away as he shifts his body. Nellie jerks from the light slumber she'd fallen into, her head lolling onto the pillow beneath her as Sweeney rolls onto her again.

"Bloody 'ell," she mutters, even as she drops a kiss onto his shoulder. "Yer bloody insatiable, love. Dunno 'ow you still 'ave the stamina. I ain't as young as I used to be."

He only stares down at her. Her body is still as perfect as it was all those years ago, the skin unblemished and creamy. Her waist is still slim, her breasts still high. Her face has the wasted beauty of a fallen angel, her eyes as dark as temptation itself. There are no words to describe how this makes him feel – he should hate that he was forced to become her husband, but somehow he doesn't, not anymore – so he settles instead for kissing her, letting her feel the non-too subtle heat of his arousal against her thigh. Nellie moans, her eyes fluttering closed, her hands darting down his sides to pull him flush against her, fired up once more despite having only finished their previous session of making love mere minutes before.

Sweeney eases himself inside her, and she shudders as his hot tongue accosts the sensitive skin by her ear. They are so lost in a world of pleasure that neither of them hear the incessant barking as it comes closer, nor the pounding footsteps on the stairs. All that exists is the movement of their bodies, the fire burning in their bellies, the hunger for their satisfaction, until –

"Mum, Mum!" the sound of Toby's voice and the door crashing open makes them freeze in the act. Nellie wrenches her mouth away from Sweeney's to peer, terrified, over his shoulder. The boy stands rooted in the doorway, eyes so large they are almost popping out of his head, his mouth open in horror. No one moves for several awkward moments.

"Oh," Toby mutters, swaying slightly on his feet. His face flames in embarrassment. He seems unable to form any more words; the uncomfortable silence stretches on. "Didn't realise you were…"

Then the boy's eyes roll into the back of his head, and he drops in a dead faint.

"Oh, dear God," Nellie groans, burying her face in Sweeney's shoulder, cheeks burning with mortification. "What possessed the foolish boy to come up 'ere?"

"Clearly he doesn't understand the meaning of 'stay outside, we're busy'," Sweeney growls, pulling himself out of his wife. With difficulty he stands, and makes his way over to the unconscious boy, despite the discomfort it causes him to do so. He shoves him into the corridor, picks the pup up by the scruff of its neck and dumps it outside unceremoniously, then closes the door again. Nellie is sat up, still looking humiliated at being caught in such a compromising position, but the embarrassment is quickly chased away when her husband returns to her side and continues what he'd started.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm hoping to get a couple more of these up before the week is out, but we'll see how it goes. After that, updates will resume on 24th June.


	15. Lower

_15. Lower_

Only the most privileged start at the top of the hole. The rest of the population is left to squander in the depths of filth and poverty. This is a fact Sweeney Todd has learnt the hard way.

Benjamin Barker was too blind to see this. He was a foolish man, whose rose-tinted vision would not allow him to see things for what they really were. He'd thought that everyone had the ability to climb up out of that pit; if they put their mind to it, they could _be_ someone. Not true. Perhaps if he hadn't been so naïve, he would have Lucy still.

Sweeney Todd will always be at the bottom of the pile, a lowly barber. But he has power that the people of London know nothing of; he wields death in his hand, practising a well rehearsed dance with the baker who lives below him, smiling blandly to the outside world. Of course, this dance becomes a burden sometimes, and Todd can feel the shackles around his wrists biting into his flesh, chaining him forever to Nellie Lovett. She for one doesn't seem to mind this, welcomes the pain of the irons, but Sweeney finds it distasteful. Wrong. It is one thing to share her bed when times become too hard to forget and he yearns for oblivion, one thing to dance this well choreographed piece of art, one thing to have her undying loyalty, but another thing entirely for her to expect him to be with her forever. For her to expect him to love her when she knows the heart of Sweeney Todd beats for no one – an organ that just exists in a dead man's chest.

His murders have ensured him a reserved place in Hell, but the thought does not leave him with fear in his heart, like it would any ordinary man. Of course, any ordinary man is not Hell itself personified, like Sweeney Todd is. He does the work of a demon, spilling the blood of mortals, rich and poor alike. There is no difference in the colour of their blood. Wealth sets the classes apart; the rich still bleed like the poor. Mrs. Lovett – the Devil's wife – bakes the remains of the men into pies while the rest of the city devour each other unknowingly, a devious smile upon her wasted face as she watches. She is as sadistic as Todd himself is, and she will be by his side for all eternity. The thought curls his lips disdainfully. He wishes he could break free, but he can't.

Because his lust for blood is never quenched.

He may be going to Hell for his crimes, may be condemned to burn in the fires of its pits, but nothing in existence can be worse than London.

He can get no lower.

* * *

**A/N:** Another dodgy prompt, another dodgy chapter. Oh well.


	16. Plead

_16. Plead_

Sometimes, the need to feel himself drowning in precious rubies is too strong to ignore. He tries his best, pacing the tonsorial parlour like a wild thing, hands gripping his razor so tightly the etchings brand his skin, desperately attempting to disregard the insatiable desire growing within him like poison.

Most nights he can overlook the images which blossom in his head; pictures of the baker naked beneath his blade, blood steaming to the surface and burning him, soft skin yielding to his hand as she cries out in fear and pain. Images of him slicing her until she stops whimpering, until she can bleed no more; of his tongue lapping those precious rubies up, making her his in the most erotic way.

Tonight he cannot dispel those images.

His footsteps are silent on the wooden stairs and he descends them swiftly, barely sparing a glance for the rest of the street. With a wild determination flashing in his eyes, he wrenches open the door to the pie shop and steps inside. A faint light beckons him through the darkness, coaxing him to its source; it would seem Mrs. Lovett is still up.

She is, but she isn't awake. She is stretched out in her little armchair, arms draped over the sides, a half-finished book sliding haphazardly from her lap. Her feet are propped up on a stool, an aura of contentment radiating from her entire being. Todd stops short upon the sight, his resolve wavering for the first time that evening. Nevertheless, those steamy images return full-force when her head tilts back in her sleep, exposing her beautiful, white neck. He imagines he can see the pulse pounding there even from this distance.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he edges himself into the room, dark eyes never leaving the baker's prone form. His razor burns his skin as it tingles with the anticipation of the kill. He can almost hear her voice, quivering and high, begging him to leave her, pleading with him to have mercy…

His eyes cloud with bloodlust, the insanity always so close to the surface of his tortured mind threatening to take the reigns, to make him lose all control. The boy is sprawled out on the floor, bottle of gin in hand. Todd knows he will not awaken now.

Stepping over him, he comes to a rest in front of his landlady. She does not awaken when he looms over her, and he takes the opportunity to drink in the sight of her pale skin bathed in gilded gold from the firelight. Without even being aware of it, he removes the razor from its holster, flicks it open with a _shink_. He wonders how it will look against her skin, gold and silver whisked intricately with red.

Nellie shifts in her sleep, the book on her knee sliding off completely to hit the floor with a soft thump. Todd jerks out of his mesmerised state at the sound of it, and shakes his head. Carefully he sinks to his knees beside the baker, lowering the keen blade of the razor to her perfect white throat.

Soon it will be red.

Gently – too gently to draw blood – he traces the blade across that white expanse, eyes darkening with want for her rubies. Nellie stirs at the contact, her eyes blinking open to regard him drowsily. In her sleep-induced state she hasn't realised he has his friend pinned to her throat. Todd's smirk is predatory.

"What's wrong, love?" she asks through a yawn, bringing a gloved hand up to rub at her eyes. "You 'ere for some gin?"

"No, I'm not," Sweeney growls in reply, and he is surprised by how calm he sounds when his insides are in turmoil.

"What then?" she prompts, and he takes great delight in digging the razor just slightly into the yielding flesh of her neck. Nellie's eyes widen as she realises just what is there.

The fear – that split-second of terror that shadows her face is enough to have his heart beating wildly in anticipation.

"Come now, Mr. Todd," she says in a businesslike fashion, reaching with oh-so-slightly trembling hands for the razor's handle which he is grasping steadily. "Put that thing away. Don't want Toby wakin' up an' runnin' to the law now, do you?"

"He won't wake up," Todd answers feverishly, digging the blade into her skin just slightly so a trickle of blood blossoms like a flower in summer. "He's had too much gin. You really ought to ration him."

She casts her gaze to the floor where the workhouse boy is curled, deep in a gin-induced stupor. "Yes, I s'pose I ought. But 'e's always been given it in the work'ouse, I'd feel rotten takin' it away from 'im."

She's talking to him as though he is not holding a blade to her neck, acting as though it will disappear if she does not acknowledge its presence. This only infuriates the barber further, heightens the sense of his bloodlust.

He presses the blade more securely against her windpipe, eliciting a wheezy gasp from her throat. Her hand over his becomes slightly more urgent.

"We both know you ain't gonna do it, Mr. T," she says in what would be a competent manner if not for the wavering of her voice. "So just put the bloody thing away."

"Don't flatter yourself," he growls. "You're dispensable, pet."

"Y'ain't gonna find no one else what'll bake them pies an' keep yer secrets," Mrs. Lovett points out. Then she sighs in defeat, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Please, love."

He makes the mistake of glancing into her eyes. They dance in the dying firelight, pools of melting chocolate desperate to warm his heart. But, at the moment, that is not what the barber is focused on.

No, not this time.

This time it's the soft pleading swimming in those eyes. Those damned eyes.

That look says more than her words ever could. It's a look he has so often tortured himself with; the expression in Lucy's eyes as she begged the Judge to stop. If he continues now, he'll be no better than that piece of scum.

Sweeney lowers his razor.

Mrs. Lovett heaves a visible sigh of relief, her throaty voice murmuring, "thank you, my love," against his mouth as her hot breath hits his face, and Sweeney jerks back. She stares up at him for a moment as he flounders _(those eyes)_, one hand held uncertainly in front of her as though she is contemplating coaxing him to stay for a gin – or worse…

Without another word or backwards glance, Sweeney leaves the room.

At night, Sweeney Todd is accustomed to seeing images of his baker naked beneath his blade, blood steaming to the surface and burning him, soft skin yielding to his hand as she cries out in fear and pain. Images of him slicing her until she stops whimpering, until she can bleed no more; of his tongue lapping those precious rubies up, making her his in the most erotic way.

Tonight – and every night from now on – he can see only those eyes, pleading with him to have mercy.

Tonight, for the first time, Sweeney Todd has seen Nellie Lovett as a woman.

* * *

**A/N:** Call me a sadist, but I love the bloodlust side to the Todd/Lovett relationship. Originally this was going to go in a different direction, but a prompt later on sort of covers it, so I'm saving it until then.

I'm on holiday for a week as of later today, so I won't have any Internet connection for the entire time. It will just about kill me, but at least I'll (hopefully) have some reviews to look forward to reading. :) It'll be quite nice to relax again after stressing about exam results. xD I will respond to them as soon as I return. Goodbye until then! :D


	17. Caring

_17. Caring_

There are many things Sweeney Todd cannot comprehend, and the ever cheerful pie maker is one of them. He stands on the little wooden landing outside the tonsorial parlour, his cold eyes honed in on said baker as she steps between the throng with a batch of pies in each hand. The crowd is almost unbearably loud and Todd grits his teeth against the unpleasant sound, but he cannot retreat; it's as though Mrs. Lovett is a witch, casting her spells to enchant and spellbind everyone in the vicinity.

"'Ow nice to see ya, love!" he hears her exclaim as she dishes out the priest, and he can imagine the bright smile on her face. Her business is improving every day and she is back to doing what she is best at: caring for others.

Caring is her element. She rushes around like a woman possessed that morning as he watches, her smile never once faltering. She enquires to everyone's health and expresses her hope that they are enjoying her newly reformed pies. She tends to their every demand, keeps them pacified. As the scruffy street urchin dashes by with the jug of ale, she runs a loving hand over his messy hair, briefly catching his arm and telling him to slow down because she doesn't want him to hurt himself in a quiet, gentle tone. He nods, flashing her a grin of mutual affection before hurrying off to supply the demand.

It's when she turns to see him staring at her, her dark brown eyes catching his and holding his gaze, her own eyes dancing, that Sweeney Todd has his second epiphany.

In all the time he has known her, she has never cared for herself. Only others.

Him. And the boy.

How many times has she brought him the dinner he never touches, washed the clothes which the blood never comes out of, baked his clients into pies rather than hand him over to the law?

How many times has he seen her soothe the boy out of a nightmare, praise him for being a good little worker, held him like a mother holds her son?

When has he ever seen her doing something for herself?

His lips part and his brow furrows at this confusing revelation, and before he knows it, she is at the top of the wooden staircase, casually throwing the dishcloth over her shoulder as she cocks her head to one side, regarding him through chocolate eyes.

"You alright, love?"

There she goes again, always interfering, always caring…does she think he's completely helpless?

"Fine," he grunts, raising his eyes to gaze over her head on the pretence of scanning the crowd for his next potential victim.

His mind lingers on thoughts of her.

_(Hands on his shoulders, voice telling him that the Judge will come soon, aiding him in his search for vengeance…)_

"Mr. T? You sure you're fine? Ya look a bit pale. I'll get you a nice cup o' tea, that'll set ya straight…"

"No," he grunts, turning away from her, and she waits for him to step back inside his room. However, before he does so, he shoots her a look over his shoulder. "I want you to close the shop early tonight. I am in no mood to replenish your meat supply. Just…" Here he pauses, as though there is something nasty in his mouth. "Have an evening off." He leaves her then, blinking stupidly at his disappearing back.

Soon though, a huge grin finds its way onto her face, threatening to crack her features in two. She begins to make her way back down the wooden staircase, humming cheerfully to herself as she does so. Well, that's something Nellie Lovett had never expected to her from the barber's lips. Fetching a fresh batch of pies from the counter in her shop, she turns to the customers with a wide grin.

Perhaps Sweeney Todd _does_ care after all.

* * *

**A/N:** I've been fiddling with this for the better part of two weeks in between work loads to try to get it right. I'm still not satisfied with it, but I'm leaving it as it is because I'll never get them all posted otherwise. Plus, there is a sort of irony about this one.

Anyway, I shall try to update a little faster in the future.


	18. Believe

_18. Believe_

"There must be a way to the Judge."

It's the fourth time he's said that today. Nellie sighs sadly, then steps across the room to stand by the barber's side.

"You'll find one, love, I'm sure," she says, humouring him as best she can. She expects him to continue staring out of the window, but to her surprise he turns to face her, his dark eyes latching onto hers. His gaze is, for once, not cold and empty, like winter, with the turmoil of his torment and insanity. In that instance, she knows he is truly seeing _her_ and not a blond spectre of his past, conjured up by his desperate imagination in order to grasp at the last of his humanity.

"How?" he says hoarsely, looking to her for guidance as he always does when things leave his control.

"I don't know, my sweet," she says softly, stepping closer to slip her arms around him. He stiffens, but does not pull away in a fit of anger, his usual reaction to her embraces. "I 'onestly don't know. But don't give up. You'll 'ave 'im soon enough…an' when you do, you'll be free. 'Oo knows?" her hands play idly with the front of his shirt, "maybe then we'll be able to move to the sea…"

He shuts out her rambling then; he's heard it all before. She continues to chatter, unaware of his waning attention.

"Anyway," she says at length, and he comes back to his senses. "I best be gettin' on. I'll 'ave no pies ready for tonight if I don't. Don't distress yourself, love. 'E'll come soon an' everything will be okay."

When her lips tentatively press against the underside of his jaw in a rare gesture of goodbye, he finds himself almost believing her words.

* * *

**A/N:** If you read, please review. :)


	19. Found

_19. Found_

In the darkness of the bedroom, lying there wrapped in warm, soft limbs, Benjamin sighs contentedly. He presses one last gentle kiss against his wife's flaxen temple and envelopes her more securely in his arms, nuzzling at the milky skin of her shoulder. He can tell she is smiling into the night, rubbing a hand soothingly down his chest and dropping her head underneath his chin to curl fully into his embrace. The sweat dries quickly in the cool air, the heat of their cumulative passions evaporating now that the promise of sleep encapsulates them.

Listening to Lucy's even breathing, her supple breasts rising reassuringly against his side, Benjamin knows he has found the one woman he can share eternity with.

* * *

In the darkness of the bedroom, lying there stiffly as cold, calloused limbs attempt to stifle him, Sweeney huffs in frustration. He presses one last rough kiss against his landlady's dull, matted tresses in an attempt to make her release him, digging his fingernails into her shoulders as an added warning. He can tell she is frowning into the night, the hand that moments ago was drawing blood from his skin now trying to heal the wounds she has inflicted on his chest; she even has the audacity to tuck her head under the barber's chin to curl fully into his lifeless arms when she has finished. The sweat is uncomfortable to lie in, lingering between them, a sign that sex is the only thing that they can share.

Listening to Mrs. Lovett's irregular breathing, her firm breasts pressed uncomfortably against his side, Sweeney wonders how he has found a world of ash to replace the golden era he had loved before.

* * *

**A/N: **This is the first one I've liked in quite a while, which is surprising given how I didn't know what to write for it. Review and tell me what you think? :)


	20. Shield

_20. Shield_

In a world of injustice, vengeance and hatred, there are only two things keeping Sweeney Todd safe from the rest of the world's greedy and lecherous ways.

The first, of course, are his razors. His beautiful, shining friends. Still waiting for him to return to them after fifteen long years of being locked in that little mahogany box. His razors are his weapons, his loyal soldiers, prepared to defend him to the death if the need arises. They are the executors of his dreams, singing through the air as he arcs them down into the unsuspecting throats of the men who come in for a shave. They keep him safe in the day, soothe him when the thoughts of his bloodlust or of his shattered family become too much for him to handle. He can immerse himself in their reflection, for they echo a day when Judge Turpin will cease to exist in the flecked surface of silver and red.

And the other thing that keeps him safe?

The other thing, though he loathes himself for admitting it even to himself, is Nellie Lovett.

She is a constant presence in his life, steadying him when his temper begins to flare dangerously, listening to him when he feels the need to speak, carrying out his every wish with a feverish devotion mocking that of a guardian angel. She hasn't really changed, he doesn't think, in the last fifteen years. She has clearly allowed the insanity within to pull her under, she possesses the haunting beauty of a woman broken by the times, and her eyes are hollow with words best left unsaid, but sometimes he thinks he can see a part of the younger Mrs. Lovett peeking through. However, his recollections of the vivacious pie maker are vague; most of his memories resonate with flashes of yellow hair like liquid sunshine and tinkling laughter like a warm summer's breeze.

His razors keep him safe in the day, but Nellie keeps him safe at night. She somehow has the ability to calm his fears, her hands gentle when cloaked in darkness, palms pressed against the ruined skin of his back, soothing away the ghost of the scars. Her voice, usually so loud and abrasive, is gentle as she lies by his side, her accent softer, her tone soothing, spouting words that he can believe in the dead of night. She expects nothing of him; he has nothing to give but the twisted remains of his heart of stone, a love that does not exist in the soul of Sweeney Todd, yet one the baker is happy to meld into her fantasies, a jigsaw piece that will never fit, but whose cracks she can ignore nonetheless. Sweeney escapes with preserving the last remaining beats of his heart for his wife and child.

If his razors are his weapons, attacking righteously in his name, then Eleanor Lovett is his armour, protecting him unwaveringly.

Eleanor Lovett is his shield.

* * *

**A/N:** I originally wanted to post this last Sunday to mark the fact that it had been a year to the date that I discovered Sweeney Todd for the first time. Unfortunately real life had other ideas, and this is the first opportunity I've had since. Not sure I'm happy with this one, so let me know what you think. :)


	21. Open

_21. Open_

Sweeney Todd's eyes are the doors to his mind. His face never portrays emotion, but his eyes do.

God, those eyes.

Nellie sees everything in them, an open door to a misunderstood home. She sees the fury flicker there when he's thinking of the Judge, the insanity building up until he has to release it – usually on her. She sees the cold indifference for the rest of the world. The mourning for his lost love, his beautiful Lucy.

And she sees the fear. Fear of himself. Of what he's become. Enough of Barker still exists at times for his eyes to show open _terror_. These times are rare. But they're there.

Nellie loves every part of the barber irrevocably and loyally, but deep down she is sure that she loves Sweeney Todd so much because of his eyes. So expressive. So wonderful.

And now he wants them to be together.

They're waltzing around the room, their voices harmonising as they sing of dreams, hopes aspirations…she beams up at him, joy radiating from every bone in her body, eagerly searching for the same thing in his eyes that she knows will be shining in hers right now…

It hits her then, with a blinding jolt. Clarity. His face is smiling, but Mr. Todd's eyes aren't filled with love as they're meant to be at this time. No.

They're full of hate. A hatred so raw it burns, a madness unlike anything she's seen before; she wants to step away, but she can't…

Not from him. Never from him.

She accepts it then. Perhaps she deserves his hatred. So she closes her eyes to imagine all she wants to see, relishing this last chance to be close to the only person she's ever loved.

And, as she's thrown into the oven, unimaginable pain devouring her body, she thinks perhaps she deserves this too.

* * *

**A/N:** I think this is only the second one that fits directly with the musical storyline. What do you think? :)


	22. Tactile

_22. Tactile_

The touch he bestows upon her surprises even her. It is almost gentle and puts her on her guard at once, for he has never touched her in such a way before. Determined not to melt into his touch as she so wishes desperately to, she spins around to face him with guarded brown eyes.

"What's wrong, love?" she asks him warily, hoping it is something to do with his laundry and not a disguised attempt to hold a razor to her throat.

"Nothing's wrong," he says, and raises a hand. She flinches, expecting him to strike her as she sometimes thinks he would like to, but instead he presses his palm against her face, cupping her cheek gently, smoothing his thumb against her skin. She is unable to suppress a shiver as he continues this action, his hand much warmer than his pale skin looks.

"What do ya want, then?" she finds her voice as his other hand ventures upwards to splay against the back of her neck.

For a moment he stares at her intensely, his dark eyes blistering her skin, and she feels herself flushing. Then he moves his mouth towards her ear, his warm breath ghosting it as he rumbles lowly, "I want _you_."

Time seems to stand still as her eyes widen. She cannot comprehend what he is saying to her; it can't be true, not after all this time of snarled words and harsh threats, not after months of working herself to exhaustion when he doesn't even notice her.

But, as he hesitantly moves towards her lips, tilting her head so he has better access, she decides to forgo caution for the sake of her desires. She is never able to resist him, and especially not when he is acting so affectionately.

At last their lips meet, and it is more wonderful than she has ever envisaged. For a moment they stand there motionless, her with her hands hung loosely by her sides, he with one lost in her messy curls, the other pressed against her neck. She feels her eyelids fluttering closed as his tongue sweeps her mouth. He tastes better than she ever imagined; of gin, and she presses herself as close to him as she possibly can, shivering uncontrollably in his arms. At last he pulls away from her, pushes an errant auburn curl out of her face.

"Mr. T," she says breathlessly, moving back towards him, but he keeps her at bay with tactile arms. She no longer cares that he is acting so strangely – her heart has never pounded so hard; she has never felt this lightheaded; she has never felt so alive.

His eyes appear to be as bright as hers. "I hope you don't think I'm being too forward, Mrs. Lovett, but I would like very much to retire to your bedroom –"

He's barely finished his sentence before she's kissing him softly again, fingers working gently on removing his waistcoat. She pushes it off his arms and it hits the floor with a quiet flump. He kisses her back just as tenderly, enveloping her in his warmth; her heart feels as though it could sing. Layers of their clothing hit the floor as they move from the parlour, and she begins whimpering a little between kisses as she feels the heat building in her lower half as he rakes his teeth gently over her earlobe.

She doesn't even realise they are in her room until her back hits the sheets of her bed, and he hovers above her, his trousers the only thing preventing their flushed, naked flesh from touching. It has been years since she's had a man in her boudoir, and Nellie is surprised by how unconscious she feels. Perhaps it is the appreciative way he is looking at her, as though she is an artist's masterpiece, which makes her feel so relaxed.

He dips his head to kiss her again, nuzzling softly against her ear. And then he opens his mouth to breathe in her ear:

"I love you."

And everything is right in the world, everything is perfect, because he is exactly the way she's tried to make him over these past few months. He will always be Sweeney Todd but here he is proving Benjamin Barker is not as dead as he'd so vehemently declared when he'd returned to London after fifteen years' imprisonment.

He opens his trousers then, pushes them down his hips, letting out a sigh of contentment as their bodies meld together for the very first time. He is truly making love to her, and she cannot stop the tears from welling in her eyes as she realises that there are no more ghosts, just the two of them ensconced in their own world.

* * *

She awakens to find her pillow soaked with her tears, the space beside her stone cold and Mr. Todd's constant pacing overhead, the same sound she had fallen into a slumber listening to. As the last remnants of her perfect dream are chased away by the first rays of light, Eleanor Lovett acknowledges rather bitterly that if Sweeney Todd does not manage to get there first, these haunting visions of the life she could have will drive her insane.

* * *

**A/N:** This one has been hacking me off for a very long time. It's been scrapped Lord knows how many times so it's got to the point where I just can't be bothered with it any longer.


	23. Journey

_23. Journey_

In the last few months they have come such a long way. As she sits and watches the first fingers of grey light bleed into his face, she cannot stop the overwhelming swell of love for him from flooding her body.

When they first fled Fleet Street, leaving behind a legacy of gory murders, he had been as surly and brooding as ever, snapping at her at every opportunity, avoiding her as much as possible; when they had reached the little industrial town near Southampton and had found small quarters to rent, he had kept to one of the tiny bedrooms without moving; she had slept fitfully on the floor of the second, Toby constantly asking her if she wanted the bed. She had tried to get him to talk to her, but he had shut off from her, ventured to a place where she couldn't follow.

And then, one night something changed – _he_ changed. She still does not know what to this day, nor does she even want to. All that matters is the fact that he had approached her, a blaze in his eyes, his teeth bared in a wolfish grimace, and she had allowed him to take her, leaving her son sleeping in his little wooden bed to slide clothes from the barber's cool body, trying to warm his soul with her fire for him; and he had held her as though she was the only thing anchoring him to this place, a spectre of a man who belonged in neither the world of the living nor of the dead: a lost soul. She did not understand why he was doing this, but she had no time to care before he was filling her, making them one, binding them together for eternity. It did not matter to her that he spent the entire time with his head under her chin so he could not kiss her (or she him), the ghostly whimpers of _her_ name falling from his mouth every time he had the breath to do so.

None of that mattered, not really, because she could feel him, solid and _real_; the ice around him melting from the sheer force of her love for him.

Afterwards, lying together in the slick darkness of their passion, he had allowed her to hold him, to stroke her hands soothingly through his hair, whispering reassurances to his battle-worn heart.

Every night since then he has allowed her to do the same. He has not kissed her yet, but it doesn't matter. It's enough to be by his side at night, to connect with him on the most intimate level, to know that she is helping him to forget even if it is only for the moment and even if he only pays attention to her in the blanket of night. And, as a further consolation he has not uttered his wife's name since, has acknowledged the woman he is really sleeping with by half-hissing her name into her hair as he finishes. Perhaps, she'd thought musingly the other night as she'd held him in her arms, it was his way of finally saying goodbye to Lucy for the last time.

Today he awakens at the feel of her feather-light touch, sits up on his elbows, stares at her with black eyes as she smiles softly at him. There is something different about him today, something in his eyes melting. It confuses her and thrills her, and she trails a hesitant finger down his face. At her touch he begins to slowly lean forward with a determination, pressing his lips against her jaw with more confidence than she has seen since his killing days. For a moment she does nothing, frozen with surprise and delight, then changes the angle of her head so their mouths meet. He does not pull away like she'd feared; instead he responds awkwardly, pulling her down with him to love her to the hopeful song of the birds outside.

Yes, she thinks as she is enveloped in the warm wetness of his mouth, they have certainly come a long way since Fleet Street.

* * *

**A/N:** Um...yeah. Don't really have much to say at the current time apart from "please review! :)"


	24. Scowl

_24. Scowl_

In the day, the scowl never leaves Sweeney Todd's face. It's etched so deeply into his features that it's a permanent part of his expression, making him seem like a dark god, a bloodthirsty demon, baying for the blood of mortals. It makes his fury seem all the more explosive, darkening his features with a sharp frown and bottomless, cold eyes.

Now, with his hair damp with sweat (she's busy stroking her fingers through the locks in a way she has learned he finds soothing), his chest steadily shifting against the threadbare sheets as he inhales and exhales, his head pillowed comfortably on her flat stomach as he lies between her legs, sheets pooled at his waist, his seed drying on her thighs, his face is void of the scowl which usually mars his beautiful countenance. Even Sweeney Todd cannot resist the lull of sleep every once in a while, and as Nellie feels her own body succumbing to the dreamy waves of unconsciousness, she cannot help but think that without the presence of the frown, Sweeney Todd looks almost as innocent as Benjamin Barker once had.


	25. Hero

_25. Hero_

"Here you are, dears," Nellie says brightly, placing two tumblers of gin down. "Don't gulp it down else it'll go straight to yer 'eads."

She bustles away then, pulling out her equipment to make more pastry. Toby watches her roll out the dough, humming contentedly as she does so.

Abruptly he turns to the man at his side.

"I'm gonna look after 'er," he announces, glaring at him as hard as he can, managing to keep the quiver out of his voice. He knows he is safe as long as his Mum is in the room. "She don't need you anymore. She's got me now. I'll keep 'er safe."

Todd glances at the boy, a sneer curling his lip as he reaches for his tumbler of gin. He downs it in a few gulps, barely grimacing at the burning in his throat. "You do that."

"I mean it," Toby insists. "I ain't gonna let _you_ 'urt 'er. _She_ likes you, but I don't trust you an' I swear if you ever 'arm 'er, I'll kill ya."

Todd smirks openly at this, his fingers finding the cool blade of his friend. The boy, overpower him? He hasn't a chance. Todd could kill the lad right now if he wanted to (how tempting the prospect!), feel the soft yield of bone underneath his razor as the blood spurts forth. The mere idea of the boy outwitting him is laughable.

"I'll bear that in mind," he growls instead, his gaze drawn irresistibly to the way Nellie kneads the dough fluidly, gently.

The lad doesn't seem to realise Todd is patronising him; he only nods in satisfaction, obviously keen to play Nellie's little hero.

"Good," he says, picking up his gin.

* * *

**A/N:** It's been a hectic week. I was rushing around doing last week Christmas shopping on Monday, was in London all day Tuesday and didn't get back until Wednesday, was at work 9-6 yesterday and then went to a sleepover, I'm working today and then it's Christmas! :D The Christmas chapter will be uploaded tomorrow at some point. :)


	26. Christmas

_26. Christmas_

The snow swirling frenziedly through the empty landscape is savagely beautiful. Nellie stares, enraptured, watching the dizzying flakes twist and pound down onto the treacherous ground. She barely feels the cold, too transfixed by the storm in front of her. She can hear the sea roaring its disapproval as the wind tears down the pier. If there's one thing Nellie loves more than the sea in summer, it's the sea in winter; Christmas time at the seaside is the most exhilarating time of the year.

It's hard to believe they've already been down here for a year, the four of them. Like a proper little family. The thought of it makes her smile. Family. For years it was her wildest dream, but even in her vivid imagination, she never _really_ expected it to come true. But it finally has, and Nellie couldn't be happier. She has a wonderful, beautiful son, her dear little Toby, and of course her husband, the one man she has longed for for practically her entire life. Sweeney Todd.

"For God's sake, Nell," a voice growls from behind her, rousing her from her trance-like state. "Come away from the window, you silly woman; you'll catch your death."

Said husband is standing by the door with his arms folded across his chest, eyebrows cocked in that slightly arrogant fashion she has come to understand means he's amused with her. He leans casually against the frame, tilting his head to one side as he listens to the wind wail outside the window, rattling the glass in its frame, the snow continuing to hammer mercilessly against the house. She sighs dreamily but complies with his wishes, casting one last longing glance at the snow before sliding into bed. She hitches herself up on one elbow, watches as he begins to undress methodically, dropping his waistcoat to the floor, starting languidly on the buttons of his shirt. He's been out all day, shaving the faces of gentlemen down in the town at the little barbering shop he owns. _Actual_ shaves, of course – their killing days are long behind them now. They have more important things to worry about than the disposal of bodies.

Sweeney slips into bed beside her, lying on his back to contemplate the ceiling. Grinning, Nellie flops onto her side so she can mould herself around him, her head on his shoulder, an arm thrown across his waist, their legs tangled.

"You're cold," Sweeney protests gruffly, allowing her to snuggle next to him anyway. Nellie still can't believe that, after everything, he is still here with her. She knows how hard it was for him to accept her being pregnant, how difficult he found leaving London behind after his revenge. She understands how complicated he found marrying her when his heart belonged to another…but now, she likes to think that he's made peace with his demons. He certainly isn't as broody as he used to be, and even though he has still never said those three important words to her, she feels that he _does_ care about her in his own way. Perhaps it will never be love, but she is content enough to know that he will be there no matter what.

She hums in her throat, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. "Did you check on the boys?"

"Yes. Curled up waitin' for tomorrow morning, just like you told 'em to do."

"They're lookin' forward to the presents, bless 'em," Nellie muses. "You put them under the Christmas tree like I told ya to?"

"Yes, Eleanor," Sweeney grumbles, closing his eyes. "Toby's at one side and Zach's on the other, just like you directed."

Silence for a moment, then:

"Is Toby asleep?"

"Yes." Todd cracks open one eye to lazily regard her.

She begins tracing innocent patterns on his chest, the etchings on his razors. "What about Zach?"

"Asleep too." Her husband's breath hitches a little in his throat as her cool fingers play over his skin.

"Hmm…in that case…" the patterns become decidedly less innocent, reaching lower than is proper, and with a growl Sweeney flips over, pressing his body to her cold one. Nellie's grin is wicked as she purrs his name, angling her hips against his so she can brush against him, her hands moving to his hair.

Oh yes, this Christmas is set to be the best yet, she thinks as he lowers his mouth to nip at the side of her neck. Coherent thinking ceases after that, as his hands roam possessively over her body, his mouth moving to claim hers.

It certainly looks like she'll be getting the best present this year…

* * *

**A/N:** Perhaps a little too fluffy, but hey. It's Christmas. What better time than that for fluff? :D I hope you've all had wonderful holidays with some awesome gifts. :D

I was supposed to be getting another Christmas oneshot up for today, but I didn't complete it in time. I suck like that. So's I'm gonna try and get it done for New Year's Day, 'cause it'll only be a week late. :D

Leave a review in this poor writer's hat. C'mon, it _is_ the season of good will...;)


	27. It Has

_27. It Has_

Their first kiss isn't one of mutual understanding or want for the ground underneath their feet to tilt towards dangerous territory neither is willing to claim. It isn't a giving in of passions, but an impulsive, fleeting memory left on his mouth when they strive to reach common ground once again. It definitely isn't accompanied with a mind-boggling realisation that they are soul mates, that the kiss changes everything.

It isn't something he wants at all.

But it has happened, and he can't take it back.

Her brown eyes are half-closed as he pulls away from her roughly. He had only kissed her in the first place because of a moment of weakness – one which should never have happened…the sudden desperation to lose himself in her had been overwhelming; the need to forget about Lucy, Johanna and the Judge for just a second too great to resist. He never meant for things to get as far as having her pressed against the door to the tonsorial parlour, his hands fisted in her wild hair. It wasn't supposed to happen like that.

But it has.

Her hands keep him locked against her as he tries to pull away, her grasp on his waist vice-like. He growls, jerking away as far as she will allow, fingers locking around her wrist bruisingly; her eyes narrow with determination as she soaks the pain he gives her up. She'll soak up anything he wishes to throw her way, good or bad, for the rest of her life.

She pulls him back towards her, determination burning in her eyes, his face set in a half-formed snarl, obviously agitated by her persistence. She ignores his expression.

"Dammit, Sweeney Todd," she hisses, catching his face between her hands. "I've only just found you. I won't lose you again."  
He doesn't want to think about her words. He doesn't want to kiss her again. _He doesn't want it to_ _happen._ But the gap between the shrinks irresistibly; he can count each dark eyelash, see the many flecks of brown honeying her impossibly dark eyes; can feel the heat of her breath on his mouth…

And it does.

* * *

**A/N:** For a heart-stopping moment I thought that the Against All Odds word document had deleted itself from my memory stick even though I hadn't touched it. It had moved itself to the bottom of the documents, instead. Blond moment for the day, then! xP (No offence meant to blonds...'cause I really am one myself!) I'll shut up now.

These are nearly finished, so I hope to have them all up by the end of January. :) The next update will be New Year's Day, after six when I get in from work.


	28. Beast

_28. Beast_

He truly is beautiful when he stalks the tonsorial parlour like this. A magnificent beast, a caged lion prowling the length of his territory. He growls under his breath as his movements become more agitated, hands running through his already wild hair. The chair rights itself, sitting there innocently once more, but Todd does not notice it, too consumed by his thoughts. His eyes grow wider as his stalking just as suddenly ceases, blood still running down his face.

Silence.

The door creaks open gradually, light from a little candle spilling into the room and chasing the shadows away as the door hits the wall. The bell jangles cheerily, a startling, mocking contrast to the state of the room.

Slowly she enters, cautious of startling the beast as his movements begin again, razor clattering to the gore-slicked floor. The snarls issuing from his throat are feral and primal; she half-expects him to start clawing at the wall, roaring for insanity to let him go.

Ignoring the blood, she crosses the room to step in front of him, arms held out as though waiting for an animal to grow accustomed to her presence. He stares intensely at her for a heartbeat before easing nearer, as though he needs her comforting, reassuring presence, a welcome rarity. Her hands cup his face gratefully as he stands close. The growling in his throat dies, the madness within his eyes fading into the background. The ghosts are still around them, breathing over their shoulders, but for the first time since his return to London, they are not acknowledged.

"You did it, love," Nellie says softly, planting a noisy kiss on his blood-soaked temple as she quietly pushes his gore-specked hair from his face. "'E's gone." There is a wildly exhilarated look in her eyes, dancing with hope. Todd's mouth quirks upwards slightly in what should've been a bitter smirk if the muscles in his face knew how to function correctly.

Turpin finally dead. Lucy finally avenged.

_It's over._

There will come a time in the very immediate future when he goes back to mourning for his wife and his child.

For the moment however, with the concrete reality of Lovett's words, the savage beast is quelled.

* * *

**A/N:** I've decided I want to post the final chapter on New Year's Day, so the penultimate one will be posted tomorrow. -Nods-

Thoughts? :)


	29. Story Time

_29. Story Time_

_"Mum!"_

The terrified cry rents the air in two and jolts Nellie from the sleep she had just slipped into not ten minutes prior. For a moment she is disorientated, rolling over and fumbling with layers of blankets until one flailing hand comes into contact with Mr. Todd's cold limbs. The barber himself is staring up at the ceiling as though he has not heard Toby's pitiful cry (and he probably hasn't, she reminds herself), his dark eyes unblinking and unfocused. He has slipped back under the veil of the past, and she internally curses herself for dozing when she could have been trying to keep the man in the present with her, not allowing him to chase the flashes of yellow in his mind.

_"Mum!"_

Toby's second, more urgent high-pitched cry makes it apparent that now is not the time to think of herself, however, and she pushes back the covers and hastily begins searching for a gown to throw over her naked body. Mr. Todd does not even appear to perceive the missing weight from the mattress beside him. Leaving her barber to drown in a place where she cannot save him, Nellie leaves the room and feels her way blindly to the parlour.

Toby is sitting bolt upright on the little loveseat. His blankets are strewn over the floor. His face shines with a thin layer of sweat, and his eyes are overly bright.

He looks haunted.

_"Mum!"_ he whimpers again, and the baker hurries over to the poor lad, her heart swelling with an almost unbearable motherly love for him.

"'Ush, darlin'," she coos softly, sinking to her knees in front of him and reaching for his face with gentle hands. "I'm 'ere now."

Her words have the desired effect, and after a few more moments of his wide eyed stare, she feels the boy beginning to relax. Inwardly, she heaves a sigh of relief. Allowing the new silence to stretch onwards for a few more seconds, she finally prompts him to speak with a gentle, "what caused all this, eh?"

Toby pulls away from her hands, which had been stroking a soothing path through his hair, to regard her face. His own is still bloodless.

"Nightmare," he supplies reluctantly, looking a little ashamed of himself for calling her over something so trivial.

Sensing his distress, Mrs. Lovett gets to her feet and nudges her boy so she can squeeze on the settee beside him. "Everyone has nightmares sometimes, son. They ain't nothin' to be ashamed of." She lowers her voice in a conspiratorial manner. "Even I sometimes wake up scared o' me own shadow."

"Really?" Toby's voice is small.

Nellie nods. "O' course."

"What nightmares do you 'ave?"

She looks at the boy who is almost a son, eyes drinking in his innocent little face shining up at her with adoration, swallows the lump in her throat _(and throats are what she dreams of, her own being slashed open until she bleeds no more while Mr. Todd watches her gasp bloodily for breath with no emotion on his face)_ and says, "nothin' of importance, love. Not as important as yours. Wanna tell me what spooked you so, hmm?"

Toby nods slowly, inching himself closer to the baker. Getting the hint, she opens her arms to him and lets him burrow deep into her embrace.

"I dreamt of the workhouse," Toby says quietly. "There was…there was lots of us all sharin' the same room and then the fore master came in an' started to whip us…" his hand moves unconsciously over a thin white scar on his arm that Nellie had noticed a few weeks prior – "…but this time…this time 'e wouldn't stop. 'Is eyes were all I could see, an' then…an' then 'e turned into Mr. Todd." The lad stumbles over the last few words, and the rest is self-explanatory. She doesn't need the confirmation that Toby had dreamt of him beating him into oblivion – her own nightmares regarding the man she loves have been just as violent ever since he'd begun sharing her bed – and she has no control over her mind in the grasp of darkness.

Not wishing to dwell on the diseased thoughts of him any longer than she has to, Nellie says abruptly with a strained exuberance, "'ow about a story to cheer you up, eh? I can guarantee –" _(the closest shave you will_ _ever know)_ "–it'll send ya right off to sleep, love."

"Okay," Toby says fervently, obviously just as eager to put his nightmare out of his mind.

Getting herself more comfortable, Nellie begins to spin her favourite tale of the future. "One day soon, we're all gonna move to the seaside."

"Mr. Todd as well?"

She does not miss the nervous dislike in his voice. "Mr. Todd as well. We'll 'ave a pretty little 'ouse on the edge o' the sand an' we'll be able to take walks along the beach every day. I'll teach you 'ow to swim. We'll 'ave fish an' chips for supper whenever we fancy 'em. We could open a little pie shop in the town – might branch out a bit an' try other things 'sides meat pies – an' Mr. T might like to 'ave another tonsorial parlour. We'll watch the seagulls swoopin' low over the waves. We'll taste the salt on the wind." Her eyes become more unfocused as she gazes at the dancing images of their glittering future; she is forgetting the boy's presence and musing more to herself. "Mr. T an' I will get married, o' course. A little seaside weddin'. I've always wanted one o' them. It'll be just a quiet one. Just me an' 'im an' you. An' afterwards…" her eyes darken as flashes of the barber and herself entwined, panting and sweating, in each other's arms springs to mind, but she gives herself a mental shake before she can lose herself completely in that thought.

Before she can begin speaking again, a soft whistling sound reaches her ears. Glancing down, perplexed, the pie maker realises that the boy has drifted back off to sleep slumped against her, encapsulated warmly within her protective bubble of dreams. Smiling tenderly down at him, Nellie prises his arms from around her and lays him gently back down on the sofa. He half-rouses at the movement, but she shushes him and sings the first few lines of a lullaby until his eyes close again. Satisfied that her work is done for a while she returns to her bedroom, her own limbs becoming heavy with the temptation of sleep.

Throwing the robe from her body and tossing it carelessly to the floor, she slides back into her deathly cold sheets. Todd is still staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes as she scoots closer to press her naked body against his, resting her cheek against one of his arms. He gives no indication of even noting her presence.

Her dreams _will_ come true one day, she promises herself. They _will_. He cannot remain unresponsive forever. She will love the memory of Lucy out of him, until the only one he will ever want is her, until she owns him for more than a few snatched minutes' romping between her sheets whenever he wants it.

All the things she told Toby, they _will_ come true. She'll make them.

Ignoring the whispered voice in the back of her head telling her that stories are all they'll ever be, she settles herself more securely against her sometimes-lover, boldly wrapping her arms around his distant body and pressing her lips against the unyielding flesh of his chest.

For now her imagination is all she's got, but one day her dreams will become her reality.

* * *

**A/N:** _Toast _was on last night. It was rather awesome. :D


	30. Against All Odds

_30. Against All Odds_

Her days are occupied with staring at the door, willing him with all her heart to open it and see her standing there, waiting to be his and his alone. Her nights are filled with a thousand miles between them in their cold bed, their bodies never quite touching despite how small it is. The distance stretches on, and she wonders where it will stop.

She tries not to let it bother her. After all, the important thing is that he is here with her, against all odds. A year ago, although it was her most coveted daydream, she would not have quite believed that he would be here with her by the sea if someone had told her so.

She tries not to let it bother her that he spends all his time in one of the bedrooms, away from her and Toby. She tries not to let the tears fall down her face when she talks to him in soft tones only for him to stare blankly through her as though he's not even aware of her presence.

Because he's here with her now, against all odds. He's still in the same house as her, allows her to venture into the room to share his bed at night, even if they never exchange anything other than a subdued _goodnight _(a listless grunt on his behalf as though he can't bring himself to formulate even that one word). He offers her nothing but a few non-committal growls every so often, but knowing he is there with her is – should be – enough.

Though it is endlessly agony to know that they have even less to say to each other now than they did even in London. In London, Todd had been forced to speak to her if he thought it would help his plight for revenge take off more quickly. Now, with nothing more to live for, he does not care if he wastes away into a shadow of his former, vengeful self – it's nothing less than he deserves, anyway.

But, Mrs. Lovett reassures herself, words are superfluous compared to actions (she pushes away the niggling thought that he doesn't _show_ her anything, either), and why does any of this matter anyway when he is with her against all odds?

His razors lay resting in their mahogany box on his bedside table, catching the light whenever it dances across their decedent surfaces. True to his word, Sweeney Todd has allowed his friends to sleep the untroubled sleep of the angels now that the Judge is finally gone from his life. Instead he holds them in gentle fingers and croons songs about Lucy to them, while Mrs. Lovett stands at the other side of their wooden bedroom door, pressing her forehead fiercely against it as though she can will Lucy out of his thoughts if only she tries hard enough. She attempts not to dwell on the fact that her love is meaningless if he won't even allow her close enough to his icy being for her to melt him.

Still, it does not matter as he is beside her against all odds. His razors have served their purpose, and it is not possible for him to continue to look upon them as friends when they do not paint the world red for him anymore. Lucy can exist only in his mind, or in the shining surface of the razors, and in time they will fade into dull pieces of metal, not even having the strength to reflect the yellow hair in her barber's mind. Todd himself is already fruitlessly grasping onto the remains of his yellow haired beauty, trying not to let her move on and leave him alone in the darkness.

Tonight, as she lies on her back beside him, she reaches out with one tentative hand to rest it flat against his scarred back.

"Love?" she says softly, inching nearer, breaking the miles between them, "I need you." She presses her lips lingeringly against his jutting shoulder blade, leaving her meaning without question.

He does not even move, not feeling her lips ghost over the contours of his back. The miles between them continue to stretch on. She'll never be able to complete the walk.

She tries to get him to warm to her for a few more moments, even daring to skim a hand down his front, but nothing seems to reach him in the meadow of life he is currently walking in with Lucy.

Withdrawing and blinking back bitter tears desperately, Nellie closes her eyes and wills herself into believing that it doesn't matter.

He'll warm to her one day. He'll have to. Especially since he's still with her, against all odds.

* * *

**A/N:** A year and a bit later, and these are finally finished! A combination of schoolwork, writer's block and pure laziness has made these last for far longer than they should have, but you guys have still stuck by me through it all and helped me to keep going. So thank you for the reviews, alerts and favourites put on this, they're all much appreciated.

Major shout-out to **AngelofDarkness1605**, **ElianaMargalit**, **Unamuerte**, **Defying. Expectations**, **NelliethePieAngel**, **cookie-pocky-strawberry-love**, **Resplendent Shadows**, **Roselize** and **the-sadisticalovett-nutcase**. Thanks so much for your continued reviews, they really helped to put a smile on my face. :D

Most of the time I enjoyed writing these, so another 'fic, _For The Alive_, will commence at some point during the next year, to keep me tided over when it's impossible to work on other things. They will be very similar to these, so if you enjoyed them, check them out when they're posted.

I'll shut up now before the author's note becomes longer than the actual chapter.

Cheers, everyone! :) x (Oh, and Happy New Year!)

**Guest** – I'm so sorry I kept forgetting to reply to this. Anyway, I'm glad these have made you smile and that you've enjoyed them thus far. Thank you for reviewing! :D


End file.
